


Let Your Heart Lead

by alikuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Feels, Cousin Incest, Developing Relationship, Drinking & Talking, Drunk Sex, First Age, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Penetrative Sex, Taboo, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-11 16:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10469550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Maedhros and Fingon through the ages.





	1. The Midsummer Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young love and stolen kisses during the Years of the Trees.

Maitimo closed the front door of his parents' mansion with great care, leaning on it for support only once he had heard its lock give the softest click. Returning from a festival any respectable prince of the Noldor would have retired quietly, but a moment of stillness was all it took for Maitimo to peal his long spine from the solid wood with every intention to raid Feanaro’s wine cellar.

Sorrow was too drab an emotion to drown, but elation was a far worse one, so Maitimo intended to go about it as quickly and thoughtlessly as possible. Yet another night Findekano had spent with eyes set firmly on him, inseparable from his side, even when duty dictated other obligations. What had been the purest of friendships had slowly become mingled with far more unbecoming emotions. Nelyo was afraid that he wasn't the only one who noticed the shift between them or his own incapability to put a cap to it.

Taking the stairs to the second floor on soundless feet, mindfully balancing the jug of wine filled to the brim in his hand, Maitimo found his way in the dark. He traced the roll of identical doors until his fingers closed around a familiar bronze handle, worn to the shape of his fingers. With a sigh of relief he let himself into his bedroom. Finally he could allow the straight line of his shoulders to sag and his mouth to take greedy, steadying gulps without the fear of observation or judgement.

He had barely found the time to sit down when noises from the garden below caught his attention. At first he only listened, but when the sound of a laboured breath, accompanied with scrapping against the masonry of the house got louder, panic launched Maitimo from his reclining position. He reached the opened window just as a familiar dark head decorated with many golden-threaded braids appeared and a set of broad hands accompanied it, gripping the edge of the window sill as his cousin climbed up.

“What are you doing here? _Findekano!_ ” Maitimo hissed urgently and caught between the instinct of self preservation and the irrational joy of seeing his cousin once again that night, couldn’t decide whether he wanted to pry off those strong fingers or pull their owner up into a tight embrace.

In the end, Findekano decided for him, his next jerk aiming for Maitimo’s wrist, which he caught and used to haul himself through the window. Maitimo stumbled back when he was released, putting distance between his shaky self and the breathless cousin, who really had no business in his bedroom so late in the night.

“Maitimo-” Findekano heaved between short breaths.

“You shouldn’t be here-” Maitimo whispered, looking over his shoulder, half-expecting to see Feanaro's face at the door.

“You know I can’t stay away anymore!” Findecano demanded, his brow seizing in an agonised frown.

“No, I don’t know!” Maitimo hissed and attempted to shoo his cousin back out the window. “You can’t be found here! You must go!"

His noble effort backfired when Findekano refused to be cowed by Maitimo’s superior height and boldly grabbed the hands that were being waved at him, using them to pull Maitimo to him.

“I don't believe you mean that,” Findekano shook his head, making the braided gold in his hair glitter.

Faced with Findekano's expressive dark eyes, all thoughts of propriety and subtlety evaporated from Maitimo's mind. With extreme difficulty, Maitimo regained enough control of his motor functions to waltz Findekano back until his cousin was against the window.

“Yes, I do!” He answered harshly, wincing when a look of hurt flashed over Findekano’s features. “This has to stop. I am begging you to leave!”

“Is that your final word?” Findekano asked and Maitimo could barely look at the pain and despair on that beloved face.

“I-” Maitimo’s answer disappeared in a click of his throat, words choked down by an onslaught of conflicting emotions. From this close, Findekano was all he could see. The rest of the world was dark and insignificant whereas Findekano glimmered, outlined by Telperion’s light and his eyes, Maitimo reckoned, shone more profoundly than his father’s silmarils.

“I know you have doubts,” Findekano whispered, his eyes having softened past fear, "but for once, can't you switch off your head and let your heart lead?"

“Findekano…” Maitimo sighed and shook his head, a smile creeping over his lips despite his best efforts to remain serious. “Did your heart lead you here?”

"Yes," Findekano challenged, fingers tightening around the taller elf’s where Maitimo could feel Findekano's pulse racing against his own. "Once you stop torturing yourself with what others might say or think, you will see that it's not so complicated. We love each other - we should be together."

“If anyone finds out,” Maitimo closed his eyes, but was unable to resist Findekano's slight pull on his hands and allowed himself to be inched closer until their toes touched.

“They won't,” Findekano whispered and Maitimo felt his cousin’s breath against his lips. Still he didn’t dare to open his eyes and see how close they stood. He was sweating - from the heat of summer, from the fear of discovery or from the fervent anticipation, which threatened to bring him to his knees.

“They might,” Maitimo protested almost inaudibly against the brush of what could only be Findekanos’ mouth almost upon his own.

“Stop thinking,” Findekano said and kissed him.

Momentarily Maitimo was swept back and there was a crash when something, probably a chair, fell out of the way. Then a dull thump shook the silence of the sleeping house as Maitimo's lean back hit a wall, followed by the swooshing noises of their robes snaking over the fine grain of his bedroom's paint.

Maitimo opened his mouth, hungry to taste what had been denied to him for so long. He dove past Findekano’s lips and plundered the heat of his cousin’s mouth, felt Findekano shiver and press more firmly against him.

Once they had begun, Maitimo couldn’t remember why they should stop. He fisted the dense braids of Findekano’s hair, dragging him closer, all awkwardly clashing teeth and starving lips, his other hand digging into the silks of his cousin's cobalt festival robes.

Findekano kicked a knee between Maitimo’s thighs and the impact with the wall sounded painful, but Findekano didn't seem to notice. Their hips moved together and Findekano's teeth nibbled along the long column of Maitimo's throat. Then his lips closed over the pale, freckled flesh between Maitimo’s shoulder and neck and Maitimo couldn't suppress a raw groan.

Just as Maitimo grew more desperate, searching for an opening in Findekano’s clothes, a soft knock came from the door. The sound was so timid, that neither of them noticed it before it was repeated, just a note louder, startling them apart at the same time.

Maitimo desperately wished that he had misheard, but the look of panic in Findekanos’ dark eyes was evidence enough that it hadn’t been his imagination. Steeling himself against the nightmare of discovery, Maitimo nodded to the dressing screen in the corner and Findekano ducked behind it without a word.

With a quick glance at the mirror Maitimo established that there were no obviously incriminating evidence on his person, and called as casually as he could:

“What is it?”

No answer came from the closed door. To Maitimo's guilty consciousness, the silence spoke volumes.

Mercifully, when Maitimo opened the door and looked at the person on the other side, asking the same question again, his voice didn’t betray even a hint of breathlessness or anxiety.

Makalaure was standing on the other side and the stare he levelled at his older brother sent Maitimo’s heart plunging.

“You are too loud,” Makalaure said softly into the stillness of the unlit corridor behind him.

He said nothing else and the silence stretched. Maitimo could no longer meet his brother's eyes.

Makalaure reached over and clasped the handle of the half-opened door, startling Maitimo. He glanced at his older brother for a lingering second, and Maitimo could see the disapproval in his bright grey eyes. Finally Makalaure closed the door between them and Maitimo strained to hear the soft whisper of his bare feet retreating into the corridor.

Maitimo remained standing for a long moment, still caught in blinding shock. He was afraid that if he but dared to take a breath, the whole world would fall apart.

“I think I should go-” Findekano whispered and Maitimo turned to see him tiptoe towards the window.

At least Findekano had the decency to adopt a look of distress. The absurdity of it all almost had him cackling like a madman.

“Yes,” He forced past lips numbed by cold horror and his voice sounded unfamiliar even to himself - hoarse, like marble dragged over Nerdanel’s workshop floor.

Maitimo didn’t look up from his feet as he followed Findekano to the window, where his cousin perched judging the distance to the soft ground below.

“See you soon,” Findekano whispered and before Maitimo could look up, stole another kiss.

Maitimo’s eyes snapped up and he saw Findekano grinning at him just as he hopped off the ledge.

Maitimo held his breath and rushed to look down, but Findekano had landed far softer than any elf had the right to, coming to a rolling stop amongst the flowers and tall grass bellow. His eyes peaked up cheekily to see if Maitimo was looking.

Maitimo caught himself bending halfway out the window and drew back. Finally he gave into the insane urge inside him and waved his hand in a love-sick gesture of goodbye. Findekano’s answering smile could have melted a heart of steel.

…


	2. The Feast of Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Centuries later Maedhros and Fingon renew their relationship.

“Would you do us the honour of a song, cousin?” Fingon turned to Maglor, who sat beside Maedhros on the right-hand side of the newly crowned High King.

Thankfully the recent defeat and the loss of the previous High King hadn't stricken Maglor's penchant for performance and the bard didn’t decline the request to cheer up the hearts of Fingon's subjects. 

Gracefully, Maglor stood up from the high table and strode to the musicians podium, gathering the hall's anticipatory attention as he ascended the short wooden dais. 

The Noldor hadn't forgotten the talent of their most renowned musician and even those of Fingon’s followers who still resented the Feanorians quieted down with bated breaths as Maglor sat down at the front and begun tuning his harp.

That left Maedhros alone with Fingon. The silence between them was frigid. Long years had passed since they had last seen each other and they had only reunited to honour the late Fingolfin, feast, drink and rally again their people after the bitter defeat. Centuries of peace Maedhros had wasted since once again he had made the mistake to think that they had unlimited time to mend bridges and rediscover their friendship. He had been wrong - the peace had ended and all they had left of that time were broken pieces to pick up an impossible war to face.

Finally Makalaure begun to play and Barad Eithel's Great Hall filled with the powerful sound of his music. He choose a gentle group dancing tune and the elves, having longed for a distraction, hurried to gather in the middle of the hall and clasped hands to form dancing semi-circles. Not long after, Fingon broke their silence as well.

“Hearing your brother sing reminds me of better times between you and me," he said. "We were young then and the last thing we wanted to do at feasts was idly sit."

"I remember," Maedhros reminisced in turn. "You were always leading the largest dancing circle and trying to collide it into mine." 

"More like join it to yours," Fingon amended. 

"Only once you had entangled our groups so impossibly that I'd have no choice but to take your hand or quit the dance," Maedhros couldn't help but smile at the memory. 

"But you never quit. And then we were in the centre of the largest group in the hall, united and neither of us had to lead," Fingon finished. "That was fun. But look at us now - we are not so old, but we are as boring as grandfather Finwe used to be, warming our backsides at the high table while others dance.”

"I could hardly join this dance with only one hand," Maedhros reminded.

"Then you can lead the dance," Fingon proposed. "I will grasp your elbow and the rest can hold on to my other hand."

"That would send a highly inappropriate message."

"Sometimes I forget that now I have to watch my every move," Fingon chuckled and drunk from his goblet. 

Maedhros couldn’t help but smirk a little behind his own raised glass.

“Becoming a bore comes with the title.” He concluded, but before Fingon could respond, a noble woman approached the High King to ask if he was free to dance.

Listening to her exceedingly polite offer, the wine in his throat tasted sour, but Maedhros kept drinking in silence, tuning out the exchange in favour of Maglor’s singing voice.

The elleth left on her own and Fingon sighed forlornly beside him. Maedhros topped up his goblet without comment.

“Mourning has but one advantage,” Fingon said unprompted. “I can refuse without sounding like a knave.”

“Don’t feel obliged to sit here and keep me company,” Maedhros said. “I’d happily be boring by myself and watch you dance.”

“I’d dance, if it were with you,” Fingon admitted. 

“After the excuse of mourning your father, it’d be in poor taste to be seen dancing with me of all people,” Maedhros commented.

“You are right,” Fingon agreed airily. “But we could go to my chambers. I know a dance that requires only two.”

Slowly Maedhros turned to meet Fingon's hard gaze. 

“Far be it from me to refuse you,” he answered neutrally, eyes returning to the crowd and scanning the general mood in the hall. Most elves were already well in their cups or engaged in dancing, so a premature departure was unlikely to raise many questions. Still he couldn't help but notice the ladies of the court, who glanced in the direction of their unmarried High King. 

“If you really are certain that you want to dance with me instead of some pretty elleth,” he finished drily and reached for the decanter.

He glanced back to Fingon as he drank to judge his reaction. Fingon was giving him a slightly accusing look.

“Come to my chambers and I will show you what I really want.”

Maedhros bit his lip, heart fluttering in his chest. He looked away once again, well aware that Fingon’s eyes were steadily on him. More than concerns of who would miss them or see them leaving the feast together, he wondered if he’d be taking advantage of his cousin if he agreed. They had each had more than enough to drink for the night, and Fingon had recently lost the last member of his immediate family that he got to see. It was not difficult to imagine why in such a moment he'd be grasping for whatever threads of his old life he could reach. But the past was gone forever, and neither of them were still the same, and Maedhros wasn't sure if it was him that Fingon wanted, or the memory of the safety and comfort of their lost youth.

Maedhros could be selfish at times. There had been too few moments like the one presented to him and too many lonely nights when he had wished that he had not rebuked Fingon’s half-baked efforts to re-establish their relationship after his rescue. And yet... 

“When will you get married, cousin?” he asked instead.

Fingon chuckled mirthlessly.

“One day I would have to,” he said. “Like boredom, marriage comes with the title, isn't that right?”

There was that accusation in his voice again. Maedhros tried to feel nothing.

“Remember when you promised me that nothing would ever come between us?” Fingon asked softly as if taken by a wave of melancholy when Maglor changed the tune to a song from Valinor.

“Wasn't it you who made that promise?” Maedhros answered humorlessly.

“You, me, what does it matter?" Fingon huffed. "You agreed to it, from what I remember."

"Yes," Maedhros confirmed without meeting his eyes.

“I still believe in those promises,” Fingon said, leaning closer until their elbows touched on the tabletop. Like Maedhros, his eyes remained on the hall before them. “Marriage would not change how I feel about you.”

“Neither would it change how I fell about you," Maedhros confessed, his low voice coming off raspy. "But it is your responsibility to get married, and I don’t see you working very hard on it. You better invite some courtly maiden to your chambers tonight, instead of your ragged cousin.”

Fingon sighed soundlessly in exasperation, leaning back into his high-back chair. Maedhros remained where he was and only saw Fingon shaking his head from the corner of his eye. Finally his cousin stood from his seat. Maedhros looked up to meet his High King’s gaze. Fingon’s eyes burned with a cold flame, which was no less intimidating for its iciness.

“I’m not going to beg,” Fingon said. “You know where to find me.”

With that he left the feasting hall, quiet and unannounced, leaving Maedhros to drink by himself.

…

Fingon didn’t as much as look at him when he opened the door of his chamber to let his half-cousin inside. Maedhros walked into the scarcely lit room, finding a half-finished decanter with two glasses, one of which left untouched.

Fingon made a vague gesture towards the wine and Maedhros poured nearly all the remaining contents into his own glass. He hoped that Fingon hadn’t had too much to ruin the brewing disaster that he couldn’t find the force of will to reject, not for his sake, not even for Fingon’s.

Not bothering with the fact that he had scarcely had less, Maedhros downed his glass. The room swayed dangerously when he put it down, unstably, nearly knocking it over. His head was cloudy and his mind was numb. This was not how he had wanted their first time in Beleriand to go, but then again, he hadn’t meant for a lot of things to happen the way they had.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, trying to mask the slight slur in his voice. 

Fingon had been watching him all along, but instead of answering, he traversed the few steps that it took to reach him and grasped the front of his tunic to pull him down into a rough kiss. 

As lips and teeth collided, all Maedhros could think was that it had been too long. He struggled to move his mouth in a way that sort of resembled a kiss, but all he managed was some raw, drunken fumbling, roughing up Fingon’s full lips with wet, biting kisses. If Fingon felt like he was being eaten, then that was alright, for in that moment Maedhros wanted to devour him, swallow him whole like a starving animal.

However, Fingon seemed to have other plans. He growled and pushed Maedhros back until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he promptly toppled over the bed. Fingon crawled on his hands and knees over him and straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss him forcefully, holding his head and jaw in place, while Maedhros’ arms reached around him uselessly, his only hand roaming over fabric, looking for clasps in his robes. Fingon’s hands combed into Maedhros’ red hair and pulled him up until they were sitting facing each other and began removing their upper robes.

Once Fingon was done, he pushed Maedhros' shoulders back and he dropped on the bed heavily, the room spinning dangerously overhead with the amount of wine he had consumed. Fingon’s touch was like fire on his skin and he arched into it, mind too numb to be ashamed. 

The fingers of his only hand fumbled with his cousin’s breeches, trying to undo the buttons that held them closed, and Fingon, equally inelegant in his intoxication did nothing to help, instead rutting into Maedhros’ palming hand, seeking more of his touch.

Both of them let out strangled groans of frustration before Fingon roughly pulled the fabric, causing the buttons to burst and released his straining member. Maedhros had seen it, of course - done more than simply look at it, but that had been a long time ago. In his alcohol-induced state, Fingon’s cock looked even larger and more seductive than he remembered, causing heat to flare between his legs, almost unbearably, until Maedhros had released himself, kicking his own breeches down his legs and off the bed.

Fingon aligned their erections together and it was easy to thrust against each other. Their bodies seemed to remember how to move together, as if it had been yesterday that they had last lain together.

Maedhros let out a short yell, as familiarity and warmth dulled his senses further, but he remembered to bite off his next sounds of pleasure, grinding his teeth and quieting down to a measure of fast inhales. Fingon leaned over him and whispered in his ear:

“Don't hold back - let me hear you!”

“You might not be…” Maedhros hissed between short breaths, “... the only one...”

“Are you afraid that someone's going to overhear -” Fingon moved lower to breathe against his lips, "- Maedhros Feanorion - screaming with pleasure - from behind my door?”

“It would damage worse your reputation-” Maedhros answered breathlessly -”than mine- kinslayer and all-”

“Poor witless and naive Fingon,” Fingon intoned in dry amusement, “seduced by his terrible, cunning cousin… I'm sure few would be surprised.”

“I believe I am the one being seduced-” Maedhros trailed off into a breathless sigh.

“You are _always_ seducing me-” Fingon countered and then was briefly silent when Maedhros bit his mouth to shut him up. Fingon struggled to pin-down Maedhros’ good wrist and rose to a sitting position over his cousin’s hips, not losing the stride of his thrusting movements even for a moment. “Even when you are trying very hard to push me away.”

“Enough talk,” Maedhros strained under him, his back arching off the mattress. “Finish what you started, Finno, or get off me!” 

Fingon obliged him, wrapped one of his hands around both of their lengths and together they moved against each other faster.

“Maitimo -” Fingon gasped in the end, grasping one of Maedhros’s bony hips for purchase and riding his pleasure hard until he finished over Maedhros' stomach.

“Don't stop - keep going-” Maedhros arched beneath him, making Fingon work his lenght urgently, and cumming just a few moments afterwards.

Slowly Fingon slid off him, coming to rest on his elbow beside Maedhros while catching his breath.

“I’ve missed you.” He said, brushing stray locks of red-hair from his cousin’s face.

Maedhros’ jaw worked and his eyes were reluctant to meet Fingon’s. 

“You could come live here with me,” he proposed. Maedhros’ eyebrows shot up but he still refused to look at Fingon’s face. “We can always come up with a reason why I ordered you to relocate here. Not that I need another transparent excuse to be with you. What do you say to it?”

“You know I can’t do that,” Maedhros answered and his voice sounded old and grating, carrying exhaustion that didn't belong to one of his ever-young race.

“I only know that you could,” Fingon started, voice rising quickly in anger and hurt, until he snuffed those emotions and continued in a more controlled manner, “Maedhros, you could if you wanted to. There is no one above you or me. There is no one to blame for not being together anymore. It’s just us, and if you don’t want to be with me, just say it!”

“The oath is above me,” Maedhros finally met Fingon's keen gaze. “You know that I'm not free to do anything until it's fulfilled.”

Fingon closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. When he opened them he looked calmer.

“Let’s fulfil it then! We can defeat Moringotto together. Uniting our forces would only further your goal-”

“No,” Maedhros cut him off. “I will not drag you into this.”

“You overestimate yourself if you think you can drag me into anything I don’t want to do,” Fingon frowned deeply.

Maedhros sat up and squared his shoulders as he turned to Fingon, who also rose to a stiff-backed seated position. 

“I don’t delude myself that the Oath can be fulfilled,” Maedhros said. “I’ve seen the enemy’s forces and my family’s heirlooms set on the crown upon his head. It’s an impossible task and it falls to those who swore to its completion to struggle with it, but not to you. Your responsibility is to our people. You are their High King now and you cannot run off on suicidal quests anymore. Not even for me.”

Fingon’s face darkened.

“Was that your plan all along?” he asked.

“You overestimate my state of mind after my return if you think I could have schemed that far ahead,” Maedhros chuckled unhappily. 

“Then why did you do it? Was it an extreme show of gratitude, as many like to believe?” Fingon asked.

“I simply knew that the rule of our people had to come to someone sane, like your father.”

“Why don’t I believe you…” Fingon sighed with a sad smile.

“Believe what you must,” Maedhros concluded. 

“So you will be gone before the week's end and I will not see you again for another century or two?” Fingon begun again.

“Let’s hope that it would take that long, for we seem to reunite only at the gravest of occasions, like war and death in the family,” Maedhros answered.

“I would see that change,” Fingon vowed. “I am your King now and you would have to answer when you are called.”

“Have I ever failed to answer you?” The corner of Maedhros’ mouth curled up slightly.

“No, you have been faithful in that way. And in others,” Fingon reached to caress the side of Maedhros’ scarred face. “But if I will not see you for some time to come, I’d like to make the most of the time at my disposal.”

Maedhros’ eyes flashed with interest.

“I am sworn to your service, my liege.” 

“On your front then,” Fingon murmured and Maedhros readily tumbled down amongst the crumpled sheets.

...


End file.
